


Victory is Mine

by Banshi13



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Bets & Wagers, First Dates, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sweet, a night in, superbowl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 18:30:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17533973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banshi13/pseuds/Banshi13
Summary: “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” the detective actually crossed himself and turned around to find Steve, sitting just as grumpy as he pleased.  Danny actually snickered as he stood and sidled back over to the couch.  “Sorry, SuperSEAL.  Hope Mr. Brady still has a few plays left in him.”“You just wait, Danno,” Steve got up, taking some of the empty beer bottles with him to the kitchen and getting fresh ones while Danny remained, snagging another chicken wing and munching on it through the commercial break.  This was perfect.  This night was going to end on a high note, he could just feel it.





	Victory is Mine

**Author's Note:**

> _Author’s Note:_ I was scrolling through Twitter and came upon someone (Belle Anderson – if you don’t follow her, do so, she has phenomenal H50 and Magnum info!) who reminded me of Steve’s affinity for Tom Brady and the Patriots, and this came out; just a short one shot of Steve and Danny, and the aftermath of the AFC Championship game, which will also allow me to express my sorrow that we are, yet again, headed for another Patriots Superbowl. I am absolutely Danny in this story, btw - I was screaming at my TV last Saturday night, and I don't feel bad about it at all.
> 
> Also, yes, I love _The West Wing_ , it is probably my favorite all time television show, and I just had to throw a quote from the show in here that seemed appropriate for the story.
> 
> _Disclaimer: Hawaii Five-0, as well as the characters found within the series, are owned by CBS Productions, K/O Paper Products, and 101st Street Productions. Additionally, The West Wing is owned by Warner Brothers Television and John Wells Productions. No profit is being made off this work._

**Hawaii Five-0**

"If they rule that a catch, I'm getting my gun." Danny was on the edge of Steve's couch, beer, wings, and chips momentarily forgotten as he watched the ref review the play on one half of the screen. On the other half of the screen were repeats of the play in which one of the Patriots' players had 'caught' the football. "Look at that," Danny was beside himself, "no way he has control of that thing, and his knee is down!"

"The ball is in between his arms and his chest, Danny; where else is it gonna go?!" Steve, of course, was rooting for the Patriots. Danny had groaned when he'd walked in Steve's house earlier that day with beer and chips to see his partner decked out in a Brady jersey and now, as he and Steve were going back and forth on the merits of what constituted a catch according to the NFL players handbook, Danny wanted nothing more than to rip the jersey off, baste it with the left over barbeque sauce, and roast the offensive thing on Steve's grill.

"Oh, here we go, here we go," Steve fisted his hands in anticipation as the ref walked back onto the field.

_"After further review, the ruling on the field stands."_

"Oh, _come on!_ " Danny tossed a chip at Steve's tv while the other man whooped and hollered. Seriously, what the hell was it going to take for the Patriot's not to go to a Superbowl? "Do you guys grease the refs or something before the game starts? You guys promise 'em money, women, a better outfit? What?"

Steve just laughed and reached for his beer. He loved an indignant, sputtering, exasperated Danny Williams, but he loved even more that America's Quarterback was the reason behind it. "I guess if Payton Manning were on the field, Brady would be cowering in a corner somewhere, huh?"

"Damn straight he'd be cowering in a corner!" Danny flopped back onto the couch, eyes once more trained on the television. He might have his complaints, but by and large, the game was pretty good, better than any other in recent memory, and it was only made better when the Chiefs scored in the last three minutes of the game. It was Danny's turn for some obnoxious celebration and to harangue Steve as the man fell back against his couch, hands over his face. "This isn't happening to me," he muttered between his palms.

"You're correct, you're right, it's not happening to you," Danny sat next to him, positively gleeful. "It's happening to them. The Patriot's, your guy, that's who it's happening to."

"You're not a very nice person when you're winning," Steve pouted. Danny just grinned.

For all of one minute.

It happened when the Chiefs got an interception, but a flag went down on the play.

"No, no, no, no, _no_ – off sides?!" Danny was at a loss, staring at the television. "Off sides where?! No one went across the line of scrimmage!"

"Neutral zone," Steve looked as though he'd been given a second lease on life, which, considering their profession, wasn't exactly all that rare. "You can't line up in the neutral zone-"

"I know you can't line up in the neutral zone," Danny huffed. "That was it, that was their chance, and they just blew it."

Sure enough, Danny was proven right within three drives as the Patriot's scored another touchdown. The noise that came out of his mouth actually made Steve look over, a slight look of concern on his features. "You alright? You eat something bad? Was it the chicken?"

"No, it wasn't the chicken!" Danny grabbed a pillow and shoved it over his face. "This is torture, this is excruciating torture, and the worst part is I have to sit here with you and endure it."

That is, until the Chiefs were in field goal range. Danny actually moved from behind the coffee table to right in front of the television, as if him getting as close to the screen as possible would directly affect the outcome of whether or not his preferred team managed to get the three points they needed to tie the game, and when he watched the ball sail effortlessly right down the middle between the two goal posts, Danny fell to his knees in relief. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," the detective actually crossed himself and turned around to find Steve, sitting just as grumpy as he pleased. Danny actually snickered as he stood and sidled back over to the couch. "Sorry, SuperSEAL. Hope Mr. Brady still has a few plays left in him."

"You just wait, Danno," Steve got up, taking some of the empty beer bottles with him to the kitchen and getting fresh ones while Danny remained, snagging another chicken wing and munching on it through the commercial break. This was perfect. This night was going to end on a high note, he could just feel it.

**Hawaii Five-0**

Steve surged to his feet, yelling like he was in a bar in Massachusetts. "Victory is mine, victory is mine, great day of the morning people, victory is mine!" In the face of Danny's misery, Steve scooped up a beer and took a long drink. "I drink from the keg of glory, Danny! Bring me the finest malasadas in all the land!"

"When the hell did you start talkin' like a damn Shakespearean poet, huh?"

"What are you talking about, it's from _The West Wing!_ "

"The hell? What is _The West Wing?_ "

"It's a political drama from the early 2000's," Steve looked entirely pleased with himself. "Really popular; lots of my buddies in the Navy watched it."

"You hate politics."

"Yea, but this wasn't really heavy on the politics though," Steve held out a beer for Danny to take, which he did, with a great amount of sorrow.

"You just said it's a political drama; how is it _not_ heavy on the politics?"

"Because it focused on the characters too, like, lots of times? The politics were in the background and maybe the characters were dealing with something political, but the show focused more on how the characters handled their jobs and stuff, not legislation or Congress or any of that." Steve sat on the couch and released a happy sigh. "This has been a good night, Danny; thanks for coming over."

"That is very much a matter of opinion," Danny rolled the bottle between his hands, groaning. "Another Superbowl having to watch the Patriots."

"The Rams will be there too," Steve said, as if that actually helped the situation but it didn't, and he knew it. He was still gloating and hiding it horribly, and Danny really, really wanted to punch him, but that would mean bruising a face that he'd become quite fond of over the years, and so, he would settle for his usual sniping commentary.

"I hate you. You don't even like the Patriots, you just like Tom Brady. The Redskins are your team, and yet here you are on the Brady Bandwagon, and who has to suffer through that? Me, that's who." Steve's only answer was a wide smile.

"Love you too, buddy." Steve got up and began carrying plates and bottles into the kitchen. Danny followed. "Hey, you still got Grace with you? Charlie? You think they'll want some of the chicken wings?" Steve reached for some Tupperware and began putting the wings in containers. He and Danny could both eat wings like nobody's business and there was plenty left over, both for Danny to take and for Steve to keep. Danny accepted the container with a grunted 'thank you', watching Steve clean up with an air of triumph.

"Alright, let me have it." Danny hopped up on the counter nearest to the entrance of the kitchen and folded his hands between his legs. "When and where do I have to wear that jersey?"

"What, this jersey?" Steve plucked the fabric a bit and turned around. "You eager?"

"To get this over with, absolutely."

"Well, it just so happens I have a meeting with the Governor on Monday at 9:00am. I figured you could come with me and wear it then."

Danny was missing something. He knew it was. "You want me to wear Tom Brady's jersey at a meeting with the Governor on Monday."

"Yep."

"That's it?"

"That's it," Steve dropped the beer bottles in the garbage and turned around, folding his arms over his chest, absorbing a hard, penetrating stare from his partner.

"I don't get it, that seems slightly less masochistic of you than I expected." But, if that was all Steve was going to make him do, who was Danny to look a gift horse in the mouth? "Thank you."

"No problem, buddy. You know, her husband is originally from Kansas City and I hear she goes there at least once a year to visit that side of the family." The look on Steve's face was just – God, Danny wanted to strangle him.

"S'cu- excuse me?" Danny's tongue darted between his lips. "You want me to go with you to a meeting with the Governor two days after her husband's home town team loses the AFC Championship game?"

Steve just smiled.

"Are you trying to get me fired? Huh? You want me out on the streets, what the Hell is the matter with you?!"

Danny was still going a mile a minute, in full rant mode before he noticed Steve standing in front of him, leaning against the food prep island with what had to be the most stupid-happy look Danny had ever seen. "Oh, you're enjoying this, you sadist? I should have known, I knew you had it in you-"

"Two weeks of lunch on you," Steve leveled knowing look at him, still wearing that shit eating grin, "and two dinners on you too – either Friday or Saturday; your pick."

Well, that was different. The dinners, not so much the lunches. And the dinners being on specific nights, Friday and Saturday nights, commonly busy nights with the locals and tourists and –

"Friday and Saturday nights, huh." Danny sniffed and let his head fall back against the cupboard behind him. Steve's face was giving nothing away, the grin having devolved to the tiniest of smirks.

"You're the one who said we should do a blind bet for who ever won the game; my team won the game." Steve shrugged. "Lunch and dinner, you and me, the next two weeks. You buy."

Danny canted his head slightly. "And wearing the jersey to the meeting with the Governor?"

"Well you can do that instead if you want to, but I don't know if I'll be able to save you from her wrath." Steve, the smug little bastard, was once again grinning like a moron.

Little known secret: Danny could very rarely resist that stupid grin.

"The Patriots winning is bad enough, but you making me dig in my pockets to actually attempt to fill that bottomless pit you call a stomach is almost just as bad." Danny made a grabby hand for one of the dishes of chicken wings and Steve handed it right over. "I'm gonna have to take out a loan just to get by these next two weeks."

Steve just rolled his eyes. "You realize lunch can be a plate, right? It's not like we need lobster and steak, you know."

"And for dinner?" Because Danny was smart, and observant, and perceptive. Steve had specifically mentioned a Friday or Saturday night, not a Monday night or a Thursday night. And what were those two nights commonly known for? Date nights. They were date nights for lots of people, people of all backgrounds and ages be they local or tourist.

They were date nights. Steve wanted to go out with him on a night dedicated to dating. Danny wasn't sure what surprised him more; that Steve was (in his own way) asking him out or that Steve had initiated this moment, this moment where both of them took that tentative, tiny, next step forward in their relationship that might take them from friendship to something more. It absolutely did not surprise him that Steve had used a bet and a football game as means of doing so, though.

Danny plucked a chicken wing out of the container and chewed it thoughtfully for a few minutes. If he was going to be paying for the guy's food for the next 14 days under the, what Steve clearly thought of as, clever pretense that Danny had merely lost a bet when he was actually trying to covertly spec ops his way into a date, he was going to let Steve sweat it out. "What time," Danny finished with a wing and set it aside, right on the counter, so as to annoy Steve's ship -shape need for cleanliness and perfection, "should these dinners on Friday or Saturday night start?" A nonchalant shrug from Steve was his answer. Danny pressed. "7:00pm? 8:00pm?"

"Hell no, 8:00pm is way too late. I don't want to wait that long for dinner if I don't have to." Steve's nose scrunched adorably as he shook his head, reminding Danny of what Charlie looked like when his kid was being encouraged to eat broccoli or carrots or something else equally has healthy.

"7:00pm then," Danny sniffed, reaching for another wing. "Dress code?"

"I'm sorry, did you ask what the dress code was?" Steve looked as if he hadn't heard his partner right, but Danny just nodded. "I… don't know. Clothing? Pants? A shirt?"

"Ah, but dinner on a Friday or Saturday night, babe; those are evenings where a little more care has to be taken in how one presents himself." Danny licked some of the barbeque sauce off of his thumb, making sure to take his time with it and seeing Steve's eyes zero in on that one simple action for a previous few milliseconds before looking away. Oh yes; Danny had the man's number. Well, who was he to spoil Steve's plans? Nine years of foreplay seemed long enough. "Khakis, slacks, some nice denim – absolutely no cargo pants." Danny pointed a threatening wing at Steve. "If I see cargo pants anywhere on your person, no food for you."

"Geez," Steve grumbled, shoving his hands in his pants – cargo pants, as it turned out. "Fine, no cargos."

"Good," Danny hopped off the counter, flipped the lid back on the wings, and tipped his head. "See you this Friday, babe."

"What, are you leaving?" Steve followed Danny out into the living room. "It's not even that late."

"It isn't, but I promised Grace I'd be home by 11:00 tonight, oh, and by the way," Danny turned around, pinning Steve with a knowing look, "the next time you get sick? No Matzo Soup for you."

"O…kay? Why?"

"That little, 'I got a murder case, I need you, buddy' line you gave me last week?" Danny smirked. "I know you, and I know my daughter, don't think I didn't see what you two were doing."

Steve winced, a sheepish look on his face. "You mad?"

"Do I look mad?"

"…you have a lot of different looks when you're mad." Steve laughed, scratching the back of his neck with a finger. "I told Grace why you were hovering. She understood."

"She does, and she doesn't." Danny headed for the door, Steve on his heels. "She gets why, she gets what happened, but until she has a kid of her own and they get sick or get into some kind of freak accident like she did, she won't truly understand why."

"I hope she never really does understand then," Steve leaned forward, opening the door for his partner.

"She's had to understand a lot of things more than she should at her age, babe," Danny smiled up at him, hovering in the threshold. "No argument from me there."

"Wow," Steve breathed, "no argument? I feel like I need to note the exact time, and the date-"

"Shut up."

"Call the Governor and ask her to make that a state holiday – Danny Williams Chose Not to Argue About Something-"

"Goodnight, Steven," Danny pattered out the door, leaving Steve to lean against the frame and watch as his partner got into his Camaro, turned the engine over and drove away. Closing the door, Steve set the alarm and looked around the living room, hands on his hips, a little smile on his face.

_Date night with Danno._ Steve ambled over to the couch and flopped on it, grabbed the remote, and settled in to watch the after-game report, a grin on his face – and not just because of Tom Brady.


End file.
